Fulfilling the Bargain
by Anna-Salem
Summary: Saruman finally delivers on his promises...what will Grima do with this newfound power?
1. Default Chapter

"Fulfilling the Bargain"  
  
"Haven't you always been a faithful servant to me, Grima?" He flinched at the word; servant.  
  
"Of course I have, my lord." Wormtongue folded his creamy white hands upon his lap.  
  
Saruman eyed him, studying the face of his slave. For that is what he was and had always been; a slave. Not worthless, oh no. Grima had done wonders in conquering the Rohirrim. But he was a sniveling coward, a puppet. Though Saruman himself was thus far a puppet in his own right, he had no intention of ever admitting it.  
  
"Theoden is dying, the people of Edoras are departing for Gondor. Even a city ravaged by war remains a refuge for the weak," he trailed his fingers down his long, white beard.  
  
Grima nodded. "Yes." He hardly spoke of that which he'd been employed to accomplish. The pains of the townsfolk appeared not to interest him, but in reality he was suffering greatly. Grima knew quite well that it was his own foolish desire for power that had driven him to the careful watch and guidance of the wizard Saruman. The desire for power and the desire for beauty. Beauty was the thing that he longed for above all else. He spent many a sleepless, dreary Rohan night gazing at the stars and the moon. They were pale, lodged in a sea of endless black, as was he; but the moon was a symbol of comfort and strength. He was a hated thing, looked down upon by all of his kind.  
  
Saruman narrowed his already narrow eyes, "It is over. You have done your part here."  
  
Grima looked up, startled, a look of utter amazement passing through his usually dead blue eyes. "My lord?"  
  
"I see that you've begun to fall. Your once proud manner has failed you, and you no longer wish to see Edoras in ruin. Though it is too late for that, I think I can offer you something yet. Kill Theoden, put an end to this, and Eowyn will be yours at last. That which you have waited and hoped for shall be yours. Completely."  
  
Swallowing the bile that rose into his already sour throat, Grima found it difficult to respond. He sat, helplessly pulling at the kerchief in his cold, damp hands. Saruman rose before him, dismissing him to do the one, final duty that lay before him. His black robes swishing behind him, Grima rushed out of the doors into the night, the moon's waxen glow soothing his doubts away.  
Theoden looked up only once. He let his head bow, too weak to put forth the effort again.  
  
"Grima," he beckoned hoarsely. "Come."  
  
"Yes, my king." Grima's eyes darkened. One turned a deep ocean blue, and the other became as black as the night sky in which his beloved moon was encased in. He moved to rest on one knee at the broken king's side. Their eyes locked, briefly, and Grima reached his shivering hand to console his king one, last time. Theoden's eyes were hollow, and he had no notion of the wicked things that Grima had done. He was the one person in his whole life who had trusted him. Bringing his cool blade to the king's chalky throat, Grima brought it to an end.  
  
"I'm sorry, my king. Forgive me." It was the first, and last, time he would ever speak those words.  
The deed was done. Grima wept, bitterly alone, in his chamber. The scampering of feet brought him out of a fitful slumber. Wiping the tears from his face, he entered the throne room. Eomer stared in shock at the corpse of his uncle. He had been banished, but word of the king's death had reached him quickly. Like a lion to the kill, he turned on Grima with a fierceness he'd never before encountered.  
  
"You...hideous snake. You heartless beast," his blade was upon him, Eomer's eyes ablaze with hatred. Grima cowered, begging for his life.  
  
"You cannot possibly believe that I would do this? He was my master, as well as yours. He was my king." Eomer retreated, the sword clattering to the stone floor. Tears stung his eyes, blinding his vision. Softly, as would a shadow, Eowyn entered. Grima sensed her presence, though he did not open his eyes. She crossed the room, taking her brother into her arms, comforting him. They departed for his chamber. Leaving him there to cry alone, she approached the slain king upon his throne. The rich velvet was stained with his blood, but he was no longer ill looking. His body and face had regained its youthfulness. Eowyn knew at once that his spell was broken and he was at peace. She shed a single tear, Grima could smell it. He wanted to lick it off her face, to savor its sweet warmth. There were so many things he wanted to do, wanted to show her. Turning to stone as cold as the floor on which he stood, Grima knew his time had come.  
  
"Why do you cry for him? He never believed in you. Theoden, he never wanted you to be a shield maiden. Yet, you cast a tear from your deep, blue eyes onto your aching bosom. Why so sad, my lady?" He encircled her, locks of black hair brushing against her bare shoulders. She shivered. His tongue was working rapidly, the magic of his voice filling the room. "If I were you, I would rejoice in this freedom. Or is it freedom? With Theoden and Theodred both dead, is not your brother the next in line to the throne? And isn't he going to be even more protective now that you're the sister to the king?" She tried to spin away from him. But he caught her slender arm in his bony grasp. "Yes, you know you must go on. But remember, it was me who put you in your position. Do not forget me." He let go of her, headed for Isengard, to wait.  
  
"That is all I asked of you, and you did what you were asked. Thus, you shall get your reward." Saruman waved him off. "There is a palace in the western land. Elven. They've departed for the Grey Havens, and it is deserted. There may be some rogues or plunders still afoot, but I will have them cleared out for you. And she will be waiting. This I promise you." Eager to leave from that place, to make his new home in a forgotten Elven kingdom, Grima bid Saruman farewell. He assumed it would be the last he would hear from the wizard. Of this, he was right. Saruman had no use for him, had promised him that which his heart yearned for. Eowyn. And, the wise Saruman intended to deliver.  
  
It was all he could have ever dreamt of. Beauty reached every corner of the palace. It was nestled into the side of a snow-capped mountain, oaks and ash trees sheltering it. There were pillars made of precious metals, steps that shone with brilliance as though no foot had ever tread upon them. And fountains still bubbled in the courtyard. Taking the time to explore the palace, Grima's mind began churning. Had the elves abandoned such a place? There certainly had to have been thieves, and he wondered how many had been slaughtered by the hand of the wizard. He swept his ebony cape behind him, ascended the staircase with a harsh pain in his stomach. Anxiety took hold of him as the questions surged through his mind. Would she be there? Inside the palace, jewels glittered in plain view. He wasn't used to such opulence, for he had never before been in the presence of such wealth. He'd not been acquainted with elves or their fashions. There was a throne room, his own, and it put the throne of Rohan to shame. He trailed his hand over the material, ran a finger over the carvings in the golden back. A sound startled him from his splendorous hypnosis. He followed the muffled screams to what was obviously his chamber. There, in the glow of the milky moon, Eowyn lay bound upon his bed. Such a sight had never before befallen him. All the jewels, all the gold and silver, the kingdom itself could not have struck such wonder into his withered soul as that sight. She was his, at last. . .  
Much more to come! Please, tell me what you thought of this first part. 


	2. The Chamber

(Part Two)  
  
Her eyes were wide as a frightened animal, her white dress tattered and smeared with dirt. She was gagged, struggled relentlessly to free herself, but to no avail. She was trapped. Her mind screamed, for she had suspicions that this was the work of the traitorous Wormtongue.  
  
Eowyn remembered nothing of the night before. She had been seated down to a light supper, unable to eat, and took a small cup of wine. After that, she recalled only feeling faint and retiring to her chamber earlier than usual, falling into a heavy sleep. Only then did she realize that she'd been drugged.  
  
The door to the prison in which she was ensnared opened. The light from the eerie moon shone upon the intruder; it was the traitor. He seemed without speech for once in his pathetic life, and Eowyn turned away from him, pride making her tremble. She shut her eyes tightly, as tightly as she could, and curled herself into a protective ball. The ropes dug into her wrists, the skin rubbing off in places.  
  
Grima's footsteps were soft, echoing across the floor of the room. His breathing was shallow, quick, and he walked slowly to where she lay helpless on the bed. No words escaped from his lips, but Eowyn could still imagine him looking her up and down. 'He'll not have me for his prize,' her mind growled silently. She felt a cool hand touch her, hesitant, like he was afraid that he would hurt her further. Eowyn prepared herself for the feel of his lips upon hers, and as she was ready to vomit, he went to work cutting away the ropes. They fell from her sore arms and legs, and she sat up, pulling the gag from her mouth.  
  
"Hello," he spoke to her, quietly, more quietly than he ever had. His eyes traveled to one of her wrists. "Can I get you something for that? I shall bring. . ."  
  
She cut him off with a snarl, "No, I shall not be needing anything from you."  
  
He raised one of his non-existent eyebrows. "I thought you might like something to lessen the pain, the wounds look raw." Grima stood before her, stooping a bit, his strange eyes filled with concern. Concern seemed like something no one would find in his eyes, but there it was. She looked away from him. This made him angry, she could hear his breaths starting to speed up, faster and faster. When she finally brought her gaze to his, the eyes that stared back were darker than before. One was black, and the other a deep blue. This frightened her, for she knew then that he could be as powerful as he wished. Eowyn only hoped that he himself didn't comprehend that fact.  
  
"Very well. Please, rest a while. There are some things that I must see to," Grima departed as quietly as he had entered. Rushing to reach the door, Eowyn found it locked. There were no windows, no other doors. It was a beautiful cage. 


	3. Gifts

(Part Three)  
  
Grima sneered to himself. She was so defiant. He'd always admired that, how she could stand up for herself no matter what the obstacle that lay before her. He shivered as he thought about her. How could he break such a spirit?  
  
There was a messenger outside the gates. Grima went to him, found that it was another gift from Saruman. Something seemed strange about the gifts he'd been receiving, but Grima put that into the back of his mind. For before him stood two rows of peasants.  
  
"Slaves," the messenger explained, "For you and the lady." Grima thanked him heartily, filling the young man's pockets with gold coins. He then moved on to inspect the people. Most were weary from travel on foot. Some were young, good strong workers. Others were older, more suitable for the cookery and the cleaning. And then there were three pretty maids, perfect gifts for Eowyn. One of the maids was dark, her skin reminding him of the southern armies he'd witnessed marching into Isengard. Dark and smooth.  
  
He brought them further into the kingdom, instructing them on where to go, what their jobs would be, and so on. Most seemed to be familiar with their duties, and went right to work. A few made their way to the stables, tended the horses. Some found the kitchen, began to cook the meals. But none of them made a sound. It was almost as if. . . as if a powerful spell had come upon them. The work of Saruman again, no doubt. Grima smiled very rarely, but at that moment, a smile graced his thin lips. He turned to the three maids. They stood, unsure of what to do. Obviously, they were a special gift. He brought them into the palace, anticipated them to be charmed by the gold and jewels. But the girls took no notice of these things.  
  
When they were cleaned and dressed into new garments, Grima gently rapped upon the door to the chamber. There was no sound from within, so he unlocked the door and entered. Pushing the three girls inside, he closed the door behind them.  
  
"My lady," he spoke delicately, "I have brought you. . . a present." She opened her eyes, turned from the mirror, and gasped. The girls bowed lightly, each offering her a name. Simple names; Fara, Elise, and Alia. Eowyn bowed in return, and accepted them with a nod.  
  
"I will be expecting you for the meal to be held this evening. The girls will tend to your wounds, and I would be honored if you would appreciate them and this. Please," Grima held out a stunning Elfish dress. It was a rich burgundy, studded with fine diamonds. The bodice was laced with silver cord. Eowyn blushed, for she had never before lain eyes upon such a frivolous gown. Her dresses had always been simple. Grima smiled once more, and placed the dress into the hands of Elise, the dark-skinned girl. He departed before Eowyn had a chance to defy him. Perhaps his gifts had worked after all. 


	4. The banquet

Eowyn felt the cool breeze as he quickly closed the door. She had to relent, for maybe eventually she would find a way to escape. She was more than surprised to have the three girls in her company. They went straight to work. Alia, a small, sprightly girl with fair hair, took her hand and led her to the bathing room. Fara was already filling the tub with warm water and rose petals. She sprinkled them delicately, her fiery red hair shining in the shimmering vapors. Elise, by far the most beautiful and exotic of the three, undressed Eowyn. The astonishment of them stemmed from how young they all looked; they weren't any older than seventeen. She climbed into the bath, grateful for the warm sensation of the water against her skin. They washed her hair, rubbed her aching wrists and hands, and soothed the rope marks with salve.  
  
When she was finished, the girls led her back to the chamber. They dressed her into the glistening gown. She stroked the fabric, the silk sliding through her milky fingers. Never before had she been dressed in such a fashion. Fara brushed her golden hair, then pinned it up into a high crystal hair clasp. Elise smiled slightly, and bid her leave; Eowyn was wanted in the banquet hall.  
  
** The table was spread with all the delicacies one could imagine in a former house of the elves. Mountains of roasted lambs and pork, goblets of sweet wine, cheese and rare fruits. At the head of the table, Grima surveyed the feast laid before him.  
  
"Lord Grima," he looked up, startled at such a formal greeting, "the Lady Eowyn." Elise moved out of the doorway, back into the shadow. Eowyn appeared, and Grima's gasp seemed to fill the room. She looked stunning. The diamonds of the dress sparkled with every step, the deep crimson of the dress made her skin glow, her blond hair radiantly twirled into a crystal clasp. He almost leapt from his seat, but he controlled himself.  
  
"My lady," he half-whispered, "you do look. . . astonishing. The moon in all her glory could never outshine you." He grasped her hand, brought his lips closer. She snatched her hand away before he could kiss it.  
  
He pulled the chair out for her, and she cautiously sat. They were across from each other, but Eowyn noticed he could barely look her in the face. Some servants dressed in deep green filled their plates. They ate very little, as Grima wasn't accustomed to such rich food, and Eowyn was not hungry. He decided to speak to her instead.  
  
"How are your girls?" He sipped at the elderberry wine.  
  
"They suit me well. It is almost as if they've been bewitched into serving me." Grima changed the subject quickly.  
  
"I thought you would like them, they are graceful creatures. But their beauty combined is not comparable to the beauty of thine eyes." The servants cleared away the dishes. "I have something more for you." He got up from his seat, reached into the folds of his black velvet robes, and pulled out a simple box. It was wooden, crafted by a skilled elven hand. He stood behind her, held the box in front of her, and opened it. A diamond necklace glittered within, the pearl drop diamonds the most beautiful she'd ever seen. He carefully lifted the necklace from its case, and clasped it behind her pale, smooth neck. His cold fingers graced her as he worked, the icy hand of death. She pushed her chair back, nearly knocking him over as she stood.  
  
"You think you can win my love with gifts? You are a treacherous fiend, not worthy enough to look me in the eye!" She yanked the lovely jewels from her neck, sending them cascading across the stone floor. Grima's eyes welled with tears at the sight of the diamonds; they fell like rain. 


	5. Midnight Plotting

Eowyn rushed back to her room, back to the comfort of the night. She wept for the first time in many long years. Somehow, she knew she would have to stand up and fight; find a way to escape. Alia knocked on her door, the sweet voice calling timidly in to her. Eowyn let her in, and saw Fara and Elise behind her. She allowed them both into the room. Once Eowyn was seated comfortably on the bed and the girls on the rug, Eowyn commenced her weeping once more. The girls looked concerned, and turned to one another.  
  
"My Lady," Fara began lightly, "We wish to help you."  
  
"Yes," Alia mirrored, "You have been very kind to us." Eowyn looked up from the tearstained pillow, looked into each face. Their eyes shone brightly with sadness.  
  
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" She asked them. Elise was the first to answer.  
  
"We do not remember, Lady Eowyn. It is not our place to remember. We have been put under a spell; that we are sure of. But, we do not with the same fate to come to you. That is why we wish to help you." They spoke slowly, their sweet voices echoing throughout the chamber. She was sure that Grima could hear the echoes.  
  
"Is he listening?" Eowyn glanced at the heavy wooden door.  
  
Alia shook her head, blonde curls bobbing, "No. The pale one has retired. Now is the time to make plans; while he sleeps."  
  
Fara spoke up. Her voice, just like her hair, was feisty, "I do not think that he sleeps now. There was too much sorrow in his eyes. He loves you yet, I think, my Lady." The other girls nodded in agreement. Eowyn was baffled as she watched them. Their movements and voices; dreamlike and peaceful. They wore dark green dresses that matched the other house servants, but each wore a white silk sash. The sash bound them together; three of her slaves. She'd never owned a slave, let alone three. It pained her heart to think that she was in control of them.  
  
"Elise, Fara, Alia," she spoke softly, and the faintest smile appeared on the girl's lips as she said their names, "thank you for your offers of help. But what can you do for me?"  
  
Elise's smile was almost wicked, but her eyes contradicted the grin. They were the eyes of an innocent child.  
  
"Leave that to us, my Lady. Get some rest."  
  
Grima let his tormented mind go blank. He envisioned the blackness closing in about him, taking away his pain and longing. But it could never be; for as long as she was there with him, he would always be in pain. 'She will not have me,' he thought bitterly, 'what have I done wrong? I have given her all her heart has ever wanted, but she will not even look at me.' He turned to the mirror and looked it over. His eyes had turned again, and as they stared back at him they seemed to darken still. That happened to him when his mood changed, and it was as natural as the tide. But to others, it was a frightening thing. Witchcraft, they had called it in his youth, and devilry they had called it as of late. He swept back the strands of raven hair, tucked it behind his pallid ears. A knock on the door startled him. He jumped, hitting the mirror and sending it to the floor with a crash. The shards of glass scattered, just as the jewels his beloved had strewn. He shook the thought from his head. One of Eowyn's maidens entered. She looked worried at the sight of the glass. She was small, blonde, with tiny features. Like a pixie.  
  
"I will see to the mess, my Lord. Have you cut yourself?" She crossed the room, placed her hand upon his. Inspecting it closely, she didn't see any sign of a cut. Grima stared at her, and he imagined that in the moonlight, she almost looked like a younger Eowyn. Almost. He pulled his hand away.  
  
"Thank you. See to the glass, please." She picked it up by hand, her delicate fingers picking up each piece. She smiled at him briefly before exiting his chambers. The odd encounter left Grima a little apprehensive. They were young, and he had no interest in girls of their age. Grima wasn't a lustful man, had never been. There hadn't been a single woman in his life that could evoke the raw feeling he felt for Eowyn. An occasional woman had presented herself in return for money or privilege; one turn for another. He'd taken advantage of only one of those woman. Though she was quite a bit older and more haggard, he thought he saw the same blue eyes of Eowyn. Of course, when they were through, the woman had left him, taking the gold away with her along with the desire he felt for any woman but Eowyn. Little did he know that this desire was destined to return to him. Soon. 


	6. A little Persuasion

He tried to sleep, but though he closed his eyes and willed sleep to come, it did not. The bed felt cold and empty. He gathered the furs to him, tried to fill them with warmth. No matter what he did, they were always cold. There was a sharp tapping at the door. Another of Eowyn's young maidens entered.  
  
"My Lord Grima," she called to him from the open doorway. "You cannot sleep?"  
  
"No," he replied. "I cannot. It is so cold." The young girl ventured further into the room.  
  
"Perhaps some warm milk will help to clear away the cold." She offered to fetch him some. He nodded gratefully. Once she returned, he took the glass into his thin hands.  
  
"What is your name?" He asked her softly.  
  
"Fara," the girl said simply. Grima sipped the milk. The cup was emptied, but the cold remained. "I see that you shiver still, my Lord. Would you like a warm bath?"  
  
He considered it a moment, "I suppose a warm bath would do me some good. Thank you, Fara." The girl departed to heat some water. The blond girl came to claim him for his bath.  
  
"My Lord Grima," she entered with the same royal greeting. "Your bath awaits you."  
  
Grima let the mists of the room surround him when he went into the room. The vapors were warm, comforting. The three maids were there, and he expectantly waited for them to leave. When they did not, he gave them a questionable look. There was no answer, only Elise removing his large, black robes. He was bewildered, a little startled. She didn't stop at his robes, but continued to remove his layers of clothing as he stood in shock. Once his clothes were in a pile on the floor, she grasped him firmly by the arm, and led him into the water. This frightened him a little, for he'd never been treated as such by a woman, and embarrassment crept into him. Though her grip was firm, there was also a tenderness in it, easing his shyness. That was what it was, shyness, because there were few women in Middle Earth who would dare to look at him, least of all undress him. The dark one began to rub oil into his shoulders. At once, his fears were forgotten. Her hands were steady, smooth. They released the deep-set tension that made his muscles ache daily. She worked his bony shoulders deeply. Fara spread some oil onto his lustrous, pale chest. She as well worked it in intensely. There was almost something savage in the way the girls handled him. But, though he was slightly scared, the contact made him anxious. Such release he had never felt. They didn't seem to pull away from him. All but one; Alia. She stood, warily, near one corner of the room., observing. Her face was masked, and he couldn't tell what she was thinking. Before he had a chance to ask, Elise bit his ear fiercely, forcing him to cry out in pain. Their hands roamed him, up his arms, down his back, across his belly, the water swirling about him. He sank into them and the water, closed his heavy lids, let his inky hair float about his face. Such bliss. . .  
  
Eowyn waited impatiently. The girls had told her that they would be helping her to escape that very evening, though they hadn't explained how. It puzzled her, grateful as she was for their assistance. There was just no way she could remain, her Edoras was calling her. Alia knocked on the door, then commenced to unlocking the it! Eowyn was amazed. Alia entered quietly, and whispered to her.  
  
"Eowyn, we must go now, for this is your chance. I have acquired the pale one's keys, but I must replace them before too long. I have unlocked the front door, and the gateman will lower the gate for you. Take the master's black horse, for he is the smoothest rider. Godspeed to you." Eowyn hugged her tightly.  
  
"I owe you my life, Alia. Thank the others for me? I will return for you all." Eowyn hurried out the door, clutching her heavy robe tightly to her. The black steed paced eagerly at her arrival. She mounted him, and rode on toward Rohan.  
  
What will happen? Will Eowyn make it to Rohan? Will the girls hold out and keep her escape a secret? Will Grima finally get laid? All these questions will be answered in the next and final chapter! 


	7. End of a SemiEmpire

Grima's mind was finally blank. There was only the feel of soft skin upon his; the radiance of hair, both black and auburn, blinding him. His sinewy muscles were like liquid, and for once, he was at ease. Fara whispered to him, and he immediately opened his eyes.  
  
"My Lord," she murmured, her voice like velvet, "are you enjoying our company?"  
  
He managed a reply through his coarse lips, "Oh-yes. . ."  
  
Elise placed her hand upon his face, turning him to face her. She brought her lips to his, and he groaned into her. Fara backed away slowly, her damp nightgown dragging along the stones. Grima didn't notice, for Elise deepened the kiss, working her tongue into his. She ran a hand across his chest, then pulled back. He opened his eyes, disbelief rushed into him as she reached into her nightgown. She retrieved a long, jagged shard of glass. Springing upon him with a snarl, she held him at bay.  
  
Eowyn came upon the city of Edoras late in the night. She stormed into the throne room, called desperately for her brother. She found him, and his face was tearstained.  
  
"Eowyn? Can it be you?" He asked her. She went to him, and they embraced. After a long explanation, Eomer gathered some of his men. Eowyn would show them the way, and they would free the girls. "Did he harm you, sister?" Eomer's eyes were filled with pain.  
  
Eowyn thought a moment, "No. But he is a twisted man with a twisted soul. He didn't realize he was doing wrong." Eomer nodded. They rode on together, gently, through the night.  
  
"What?" Grima stuttered. He splashed out of the tub, throwing his robes on. Elise sneered at him, held the weapon out in front of her defensively. Not wanting to risk a cut, Grima stayed away. He heard a clatter of wooden doors, the stomp of boots. He knew it was over.  
  
Eomer threw open the door to the baths. Grima huddled to the floor, Elise standing over him. She dropped the glass to the stone and ran to Eowyn. Fara and Alia crowded around, and they left the room, not wanting to see what would become of the pale Grima.  
  
He panted, eyed the glass. Eomer kicked him in the face, swelling his eyes shut. He bound his wrists, dragged him by the hair out the door. Blindfolding him, Eomer tied him to his black steed, and sent the traitor on his way. . .  
  
The horse knew the way better than any animal. He traveled to Isengard in one night, the battered Grima upon his back. Saruman smiled eerily to himself, his yellow teeth visible. He untied the worm, and lifted him off the horse.  
  
"I see," he said, "you just can't handle the life of a nobleman." Grima frowned. From his swollen, purple eyes, tears fell like rain. He had lost, again. He would never have Eowyn now; he had failed.  
  
Slinking down the halls of Isengard, he had almost healed. There were still bruises on his face, colored his skin. He was cold, so cold, like death had brushed him. It had brushed him. Holding the light before him, he stepped cautiously through a corridor. There, in the moonlight that seeped in through the window, a young, fair- haired girl stood. She gazed out the window, admiring the moon's soft glow. He stepped back, and she turned, startled. Deep blue eyes looked at him questioningly. She was strong and fair, very lovely. Grima felt his heart grow warmer. Maybe Isengard wasn't such a bad place, and maybe he hadn't failed after all. . . 


End file.
